Chapter Thirty-Eight

“About time,” Milo said. “I was worried you wouldn’t make it.”

I grinned and pulled myself up and into the carriage, then flopped down onto the seat opposite Milo with a huff. “Sorry,” I said. “I had to run all the way here.”

Milo’s carriage, or the Milo family carriage, I supposed, was a rather ostentatious old thing. All dark wooden panelling with silver paint to embellish it. The doors had a large crest that I had no idea how to read on it. If it wasn’t for the large M atop it, I might have been confused about which carriage to get into.

The interior was nice. I glanced around, taking it all in. There was embroidered cloth on the ceiling and a multitude of tassels, the seats were fat and plush and rather comfortable. It reminded me a little of a luxury car on Earth. Which only made sense, the first luxury cars were probably modelled after coaches just like this one. “Nice carriage,” I said.

“Hm? Oh, thanks. We don’t usually take out the nice coach, but seeing as how it’s my birthday and all,” Milo said dismissively.

“That makes sense,” I said.

“So, what made you nearly late?” Milo asked.

The truth was that I was picking up after myself. Or rather, after Harbin.

I... I didn’t kill him.

I wanted to. He was a pain in the ass, and he knew some stuff which might jeopardise my operation here. But I didn’t. He was just a kid. A jerk of a kid, who’d probably grow up to be a jerk of a man, but I couldn’t bring myself to just kill him.

Maybe I was too sentimental.

There were practical reasons too, of course. A dead student would require investigation. Two deaths in the same year would be impossible to cover up. Even if he went missing, that’d still require some investigations.

But those practicalities weren’t why I did it. I left him alive for purely sentimental reasons.

“Gunther?” Milo asked.

“Hmm? Oh, sorry. Yeah, I tripped on the way out of the dorms,” I said. “Banged my foot up real bad.”

“Really? Do you want to go back to the nurses?” Milo asked. He was smiling, clearly thinking this was funny, but he was setting aside his mirth to see if I was okay.

“I’m fine,” I said. “I managed to run all the way here, didn’t I?”

The truth was that I’d used [Blight] to attack Harbin, rotting away his flesh in a few spots. Then, when he went down with a scream, I laid into him with a few good kicks to the gut and ribs.

The damage would look like he’d gotten a beating, which he had, and which he honestly deserved. I left him alive back there.

He knew about the basement, but if he ventured down there and got himself killed from touching the mushrooms I had growing then that was on him. I didn’t think he’d be able to do much more than crawl his way to the nurse’s office. And if he told anyone that I’d kicked his ass, then that would only ruin his reputation more.

“Did anyone see you?” Milo asked with a grin.

I laughed. “No, I don’t think so. I hope not!”

We continued to chat as the carriage took off. I heard the ‘yeah!’ of the driver above and the crack of the reins before hooves clattered on the cobbles and we took off.

The ride was surprisingly smooth. I’d been led to expect carriage rides were all bumpy and hard, but this wasn’t so bad. The extremely plush seats helped too.

I watched the city scroll by in fits and starts as we made our way across the hillsides of the nicer parts of City Nineteen. Milo and I kept up the chatter, of course. We complained about teachers, spread baseless gossip, and Milo told a few amusing stories about his previous birthdays and a few vacations he and his family had been on.

I could hardly meet his stories with my own, but I could ask questions and keep him talking.

Soon, we were out of the nice, rich part of City Nineteen and into the old, rich part of the city. The mansions here were larger, with better stakes on the land. There was actually some farming going on here, if wine vineyards and a few pastures for prize livestock counted as farming.

We rolled past a few estates with grand gates and tall fenced-in walls before the carriage turned off the road and onto a more private roadway. I resisted the urge to gawk as we finally came to a stop.

The driver jumped down, and before I could reach the door it was opened to let us out. “Welcome home, Mister Michael,” the driver said as Milo jumped out.

Right, I’d have to keep that in mind. Milo was the family’s name, and what everyone called the men of the family, but at the moment, Milo’s father was the resident... Milo.

As I stepped out of the carriage I noticed that a few of my plans would have some issues.

For one, I expected the home to be closer to the city itself. Maybe a large home with its neighbours relatively close by, and while this estate wasn’t enormous, the nearest homes were some hundred yards away to either side, past tall wrought-iron fences and through yards with hedges.

If I had to run it would be impossible to disappear into the city.

The mansion was a large, blocky building made of locally quarried stone. The main building was three floors, with the wings on either side reduced to a single floor each. In a way, it mimicked the layout of the Academy, though writ small.

“Come on, Gunther!” Milo said. “I’ll show you around before people start to arrive.”

“Sure,” I said. “Hey, do you need help with your bags?”

Milo waved my concern off. “The help will grab them,” he said.

“Right, of course,” I said as I kept up with him and moved up the steps into the entrance. I noticed that there weren’t any other carriages around, so we were the first here.

The interior was just as grand as the outside. The doors were heavy, ornately carved slabs of wood that lead into a parlour that was so bright it was almost an assault to the eyes.

The walls had several paintings on them, mostly of colourful fruit or exotic birds, and the rug laid out on the carpet was a woven tapestry of rioting colours.

“I know,” Milo said. “My mother has a thing  for bright colours. Dad convinced her that she could decorate the parlour and only the parlour. The rest of the house isn’t so weird.”

“That’s alright,” I said as I followed him to the left.

“Kitchens and such are on the east wing,” he said with a gesture to the right. “Washrooms are all over. The doors are left open so they’re easy to find. Oh, this is the family living room.”

We entered a room with a few velvet-covered sofas surrounding a coffee table. A bookcase ran the length of one wall, and its opposite had several windows looking into the back yard. A set of oil paintings hung on the walls, paintings of the family. A younger Milo was featured in the latest of these paintings, though the previous ones showed his father going from an aged man to a young boy himself, with members coming and going from the paintings.

There was history  to this place, I realized.

And I was about to add a dark cast to that history.

With Milo leading the way, we traversed the house, through wide hallways and spacious rooms. His mother's taste in decoration did, indeed, seem to stay relegated to the parlour. The rest of the house was a balance of refined opulence and sober practicality.

We went up a staircase, then Milo brought me to a door which he threw open. “This is my room!” he said.

It was a nice room. Large and well-appointed, with a bed that had more space than my home in the slums and a few shelves stuffed full of toys and trophies. There was an easel with an unfinished landscape painting on it, and a violin in a case.

“You play the violin?” I asked.

“A little,” he said shyly. “I like it, but not enough to join the music club. You play it too, right?”

“No, I make horrific noises beyond human comprehension with the violin, it’s not the same.”

Milo laughed. “Oh! You need to meet my parents. And sign the guest book too! Come on!”

I followed after him. The more I travelled through the house, the better prepared I’d be.

***